


Or Something Like It

by Two_for_Slashing



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Carolina Hurricanes, Hockey Big Bang 2019, M/M, Magical Realism, Rare Pairings, Vampires, or something technically like vampires, they play hockey but not in the NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_for_Slashing/pseuds/Two_for_Slashing
Summary: "You aren't gonna believe me, but demons?""They aren't real," Brett said matter-of-factly, because they weren't.Brock had opened his eyes and he was staring at Brett blankly, like he had never seen him before.  “Why don’t you think we talk about Jamie?” he whispered.





	Or Something Like It

**Author's Note:**

> So this story was not what I expected it to be...but that's the fun of the HBB! Please enjoy this humorous take on Brock and Brett being idiots to each other. The show they watch on TV is an obvious rip-off of Buzzfeed Unsolved.
> 
> This fic also received a podfic from the lovely somehowunbroken ----> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21157436
> 
> Enjoy!

Their friendship hadn’t seemed like something inevitable. 

Brett remembered being young, tightly gripping his mother’s hand as she walked him and his brothers into practice, and there being another family with three boys at the rink. He would watch them quietly and curiously from the benches where they sat to lace up their skates. He hadn’t realized it as a child but he was comparing and contrasting these three boys to him and his brothers. How were they alike? How were they different? Why was the youngest boy a bright redhead, just like his little brother was blonde? Was it normal for the third child in a family to look so different from their siblings?

Sometimes the other boys would catch him looking. The oldest would frown at him for a few seconds but then turn his attention away, the middle brother would nudge at their mother who would often just swat away his arm in that same passive-aggressive way Brett’s own mother did when they were being annoying, and the youngest would stare back. His eyes seemed particularly huge in a way that was different from anyone else Brett had ever seen, and with his pale skin and wild locks of red hair, he looked like an unhinged monster fearlessly staring down his prey.

Brett would often feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up his skin and he would look away, counting the minutes until they could go out on the ice.

Somehow he and his brothers never ended up playing on the same team as this boy and his brothers, and as they grew up and their skill levels changed, Brett forgot about there being another family of three hockey playing brothers in their town.

Until the 9th grade, when he found himself sitting next to a boy with wild, shoulder-length red hair.

Brett stared far longer than he should have.

The boy stared back, a small smirk etched onto his face, his wide eyes regarding Brett with the same amusement he was wearing on his face.

“Been a while,” the boy said. Brett blinked, vaguely wondering why he was so shocked that the boy’s voice was as deep as it was, and then promptly flipped open a textbook and buried his face in it.

He refused to look at the boy – Brock, according to the teacher when she called out attendance, Brock McGinn – except once, briefly, out of the corner of his eye.  
Brock was still smirking.

+

The McGinns lived in a small house just on the outside of town. It was still a nice area; all of town was nice if Brett was being honest, although he’d be lying if he said that the section he lived in wasn’t nicer than Brock’s. But the McGinns lived in the more middle-class section, and although they had a good-sized yard with a fence and all three boys had their own rooms, their house was noticeably smaller than the Pesces.

Brock was the only friend Brett ever felt awkward about having over, despite Brock not seeming to care about how huge their house was or the expensive cars parked in the Pesces' driveway. He would always flop onto their huge sectional, ready to challenge Brett or Adam or Brad to a round on the X-Box if it wasn’t nice enough for them to be in the backyard, tossing lacrosse balls at a net. 

He hadn’t been planning on ever having Brock over, or going to Brock’s house, or even talking to Brock, but Brock apparently had other ideas.

Brett sometimes walked home from school, because he hated riding the bus and Brad wasn’t always around to drive him, and he didn’t want to wait at the middle school for Adam to be finished for the day. He usually had his earbuds in, just viewing the street and idly noticing passing cars and the details of too familiar houses.

He hadn’t heard the footsteps the first few times, and then one day Brock jostled his shoulder, his grin huge and eyes bright.

Brett stopped dead, scrambling to pause his music. “What are you doing?” he had said, wanting to originally yell out something more angry sounding like _What the fuck?_ or _Are you stalking me?_ but he was unfortunately not as quick on his feet as he’d like to have been. That had been an issue his coaches had all had with his defensive game for years.

Brock’s grin had only doubled in size, which only served to irk Brett more. “I’m walking home,” he replied, oozing fake innocence that would fool no one.

“You’re following me,” Brett pointed out.

Brock had had the audacity to look shocked, the fucker. “Now why would I do that?”

Brett didn’t know, and he didn’t even know how to reply to that. “You stare at me. In class. All the time.”

“You stared at me. At the rink. All the time.”

The blood in Brett’s body froze. “You remember that?”

Brock’s grin grew so large it almost looked like it was going to swallow his face. “How could I forget?”

And because he hated social situations but he hated awkward social situations even more, Brett quietly conceded a victory point in Brock’s favor and continued walking, allowing Brock to follow him. They parted at the crossroads that both would later learn were three blocks from Brett’s house and eight from Brock’s, and then this thing that hadn’t been a thing suddenly turned into a routine.

“You had brothers,” Brett said to Brock one afternoon. They had talked hockey for a bit (both were trying out for the JV team, and Brock had been on a travel team which is why Brett had stopped seeing him around the rink after a few years) and then Brett had remembered that one of his fascinations with Brock had been that he had the same amount of siblings as he did. “Or have brothers,” he fixed quickly, coloring a soft red he was hoping Brock didn’t notice. He cursed himself for implying that one of them was dead.

Something shuttered across Brock’s face. He was quiet for a few minutes, staring down at his feet. Brett eyed him, as nonchalantly as he could. This was strange. Brock usually never shut up.

“Well I’ve got Tye,” he said after a moment, forcing the fakest smile Brett had ever seen from him onto his face. “He’s almost four years older than me. You might remember him, he plays hockey too.”

“Was he the middle brother or the older brother?” Being told his name was Tye did not give Brett a lot to work with when identifying the two other boys in the McGinn family.

Brock’s fake smile faltered. “The uh, middle one.”

Brett waited for a few minutes, thinking. “And the older one?”

Brock stopped suddenly. He stared at Brett, something dark in his eyes that Brett hadn’t seen before. “We don’t talk about Jamie,” he muttered so softly that Brett almost didn’t hear him.

“What?” Brett tilted his head, confused. “Why –”

“We don’t. Talk. About. Jamie.” And with that Brock turned suddenly and kept walking. Brett had to hustle to keep up, his mind swimming with confusion and thoughts of a young boy who had frowned at him when he had caught him staring at a rink years and years ago.

They stopped at the crossroads where they always parted. Brock faced him. “Come over,” he said, and this was the first time he had ever suggested they do anything outside of school or walk home together.

Brett was so wracked with confusion that he could only utter a soft “Okay”. He followed Brock home. A woman who Brett immediately recognized as Mrs. McGinn met them at the door with a big hug. There was simple chatter before Brock led Brett down a dark staircase, and the two played video games until it grew dark and Brett ran all the way home.  
He thought of that small yet warm house long into the night, the darkness of his own bedroom doing little to lull him to sleep.

There were pictures on the walls of three boys, three boys Brett remembered, and there was talk of Tye who was away at college and all that Brock had been up to in the years since Brett had last seen him, and there were tons of jokes and smiles and laughter, but they didn’t talk about Jamie.

+

High school went quick. College went quicker. Brett remembered bits and pieces of his four years spent in both places. There were tons of tests and writing and hours spent working too hard or not hard enough on what seemed like endless homework and essays. Social situations didn’t get any less awkward, but Brett at least managed to learn the fine art of small talk and could get by most of the time with little blushing. Hockey was still as challenging and invigorating as it had always been; playing in high school had been incredibly nerve-wracking, especially when word of scouts being at games got out. He found he could breathe much easier once he had committed to the club team at the University of New Hampshire and the pressure no longer strangled him the way his asthma strangled the air from his lungs.

There had been a few dates but no serious dating, pretty girls he knew from summer jobs and a few he met at parties in college. They were always nice to him, and Brett treated them like a gentleman as his mother had drilled into him, Brad, and Adam, but despite the nice chatter over dinner or a day out, something never felt right.

That was what Brett got used to telling people when they’d ask, and while he was happy everyone accepted his blasé response, it was only half the truth. Something really had never felt right, and it wasn’t anything the girls were doing wrong, other than being girls.

Brett had realized that, a while ago. That didn’t stop him from attempting to ignore it anyway.

If anyone in his family suspected anything, they didn’t press him to discuss it or call him out. His brothers went about their lives and lovingly teased him as they always had, and his parents never questioned what he was or wasn’t doing.

A few times, however, Mrs. Pesce had asked where Brock was. These questions were asked rarely, as Brock was always with Brett and they were at one house or the other, but on the occasion where Brock’s presence wasn’t had for more than a few days in a row, Mrs. Pesce would eye Brett in a way that made his heart beat too quickly and ask. 

Brock had been the one consistent person that had followed Brett on his journey. They had remained close throughout high school, practically glued at the hip both in the classroom, on the ice, and just about everywhere else they could be found, and their friendship had not wavered after. Brock had opted to stay home and go to community college; Brett was convinced that was that for them, but Brock had practically barged through his door the first time Brett had come home on break and it became obvious to Brett that he would never change.

Brett was glad he could rely on Brock always being Brock, from his huge grins to his boisterous personality to his wild and long red hair and even wider eyes – nothing about Brock changed. The two of them just grew older and learned new things and made stupid mistakes, but they remained the same to each other.

And sometimes that meant Brock was busy and had other things going on, and sometimes that meant he didn’t see Brett, and sometimes that meant Brett could rely on his mother wondering things.

He had looked at Brock, once, and felt something pang softly in his chest, but Brett never acted on anything. Brock had become his best friend, and Brett had grown to love the McGinns. Mr. and Mrs. McGinn were two of the nicest, hardest working people Brett had ever met, and Tye was funny, especially when Brock was the butt of his jokes.

So Brett pushed his pang away and enjoyed the McGinns the way he always had. He and Brock continued to hang out, and Brett continued to grow to love the McGinns even more than he thought he could, and no matter what they discussed or what was going on, they still never talked about Jamie.

+

Brock turned 25 February 2nd. It was a cold day, typical for the winter, and Brock did exactly what Brett figured he would: invite a bunch of old teammates from high school and a few guys he had gone to community college with for a day-long tournament. There was a pond just on the outskirts of town that wasn’t a far walk from the McGinns home, and the group of boys stayed until it was too dark to see without the headlights of a car shining down on them. Mrs. McGinn had stopped by a few times throughout the day, bringing them all hot chocolate and snacks, and then they had all wound up back at the house for pizza and cake.

As was typical, Brett found himself alone with Brock in Brock’s basement long after the others had all left. He was content and full and, if he was being honest, a little bit frozen in his fingers and toes, but overall he had enjoyed himself. Catching up with some people he knew and learning things about those he didn’t had made for a much more pleasant day than he had been expecting and, judging by the look on his face, it seemed that Brock was happy as well.

A warmth settled heavily in Brett’s chest, and he forced his eyes to stay trained on the television, watching the screen flicker as Brock thumbed through the channels. Brock wasn’t usually too picky when it came to T.V., and Brett had found himself watching some very interesting shows and some very stupid shows over the years, but his friend seemed to be a bit listless with the programming that night in a way that wasn’t normal.

After what felt like a good ten minutes of the screen flickering across images Brett swore Brock passed over at least three times, it all stopped suddenly. An image of two men filled the screen; they were standing in front of what looked like a dark house, and each held a camcorder in their hands. The shorter of the two regarded the screen with a stern look, while his companion seemed to be unbothered by whatever it was the two were about to get into.

“This week we are going to be searching this location as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?”

Brett sighed, leaning into the corner of the couch. A ghost show. He had never really had an interest in the paranormal and didn’t give much thought to life after death, cemeteries, or any of that dark stuff.

“Ghosts?” the companion uttered, his tone bored, “I thought you said we were hunting demons?”

The other man scoffed loudly, looking around wildly. “Demons? You know I don’t fuck with demons!”

Brett rolled his eyes before glancing over at Brock. His friend was sitting up straight, his eyes glued to the T.V., as wide as they always were.

Something seemed odd. “Are you into this type of stuff?” Brett asked softly, hoping his tone didn’t sound too judgmental. He had known Brock for ten years and frankly couldn’t recall a time when his friend had ever mentioned an interest in the paranormal or when they had ever watched anything like this before.

Brock didn’t even glance at him. “Sometimes,” he muttered. “We’ve talked about this before.”

The warm feeling in Brett’s chest was slowly turning cold. “No we haven’t.”

Brock stood suddenly. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath. He looked at Brett and his eyes, always wide and wild, looked wider and wilder than Brett had ever seen them.

The silence grew between them into something that almost seemed palpable. “Brock,” Brett said softly, gently, like he was talking to an animal that had been backed into a corner, “what is going on?”

Emotions warred openly on Brock’s face. He opened his mouth a few times, stuttering on unformed words, and then he drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes. “You aren’t gonna believe me, but demons?”

“They aren’t real,” Brett said matter-of-factly, because they weren’t.

Brock had opened his eyes and he was staring at Brett blankly, like he had never seen him before. “Why don’t you think we talk about Jamie?” he whispered, and Brett knew Brock was talking to him and only him, but the distance in his eyes made it seem like the two of them weren’t even occupying the same space.

“Your brother got…” Brett didn’t even know how or where to continue. He was confused, and the confusion was mixing with a lot of disbelief. He thought he knew where Brock was going. It was the most bizarre direction his best friend had ever taken him down, if he was saying to Brett what Brett thought he was saying.

“Not…he didn’t…it’s…” Brock slowed, horror finally settling into his eyes. “You have to go.”

He didn’t use a nasty tone. His voice was still soft, just barely louder than a whisper. Brett heard him all the same, understood what Brock wanted him to do, and yet he found he could barely move. “What?” he uttered, at a loss for anything else.

Brock stared at him, looking lost. “You have to go.”

If Brett had been a different person he would’ve stayed. If Brett had been a stronger person he would’ve stayed. But Brett was Brett, and he was confused, and maybe a little bit scared, and maybe a bit heartsick, something painful was going on in his chest – but he had never seen Brock this way before. He had never heard Jamie mentioned like this before.

They didn’t talk about Jamie, until they talked about Jamie, and – Brett didn’t know what to think. So he did what his best friend wanted him to do, and he left.

+

It rained the entire walk home. Brett could’ve driven, but he and Brock had made walking to each other’s houses their thing. He could withstand cold on an average day, but at night, with the rain feeling more like sleet – it was miserable.

It didn’t help that Brett’s mood was as sour as the weather.

He kept his head down, trudging along. He tried not to think about Brock, in his basement, with shows about demons playing all hours of the night, his eyes wider and wilder than they had ever been before.

He tried not to think of Brock. The images would not stay away.

He tried not to think.

A noise just to his left dragged him straight from his reverie.

At first Brett hadn’t been able to see anything. It was dark, and the thickness of the February rain did not make it any easier for him to find what it was that had made the noise. There were a few well-kept houses to his side, and behind them was a small patch of woods that eventually led to one of the local parks.

The trees stood tall and dark, huddled together in a way that Brett knew was natural but seemed more foreboding in the rain.

He heard the sound again – a cracking sound, like a branch snapping. Something moved just behind the tree line.

Brett felt his blood grow cold. Brock was once again a thought in his head, his emphasis on demons, on Jamie and demons, replaying over and over again.

There was a figure watching him. He could see the outline of a body, of a pale face staring at him, with dark eyes and a frown.

Something about the frown registered as familiar.

Brett didn’t linger any longer to figure out where he knew it from – he ran the rest of his way home, and when Adam, on the couch playing X-Box, tossed a “What the hell’s wrong with you?” at him when he entered the house wet and shaking, Brett opted to say nothing.

He went up to Brad’s room instead, where the darkness of his older brother’s room provided solace from too many questions outside of “What do you want?” and “Yeah I guess you can stay but I thought you hated romcoms?”

Brett did. He closed his eyes and lay quietly on the floor instead.

+

Brock didn’t answer his phone the next morning, or the day after. By the fourth day of no response, Brett began to feel panic settling within his gut. This was odd for Brock; even on the days where he didn’t come over, Brett still heard from him.

He barely made it to the end of the week before he drove to the McGinns house.

Mrs. McGinn answered the door. She smiled sweetly at Brett, as she always did, but something in her eyes seemed off. “He’s been sick,” she told Brett when he asked, “and he’s gotten Tye sick, so we don’t want anybody else getting sick.”

Brett stared at her. “He’s sick. And he can’t answer his phone?”

Mrs. McGinn frowned. Her eyes regained some of their normal warmth. “Brock does what he wants, sweetheart. You know that.”

He did. Brett hated to admit that it was the truth.

+

He was on his way back from Brock’s house, trying to swallow the disappointment from his visit and failing miserably, when someone jostled his shoulder.

Brett stopped suddenly, turning. He had a thought in his mind to apologize to whomever it was he had hit, knowing that his focus was not on the street and back at the house four blocks behind him. 

The person, a male, was hunched over, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his face. His hands were wedged into the pockets of his jeans. Everything about his body language was projecting “unfriendly”, but Brett found he could not look away.

It took Brett a few seconds of staring to make out the stranger’s features. He was pale, a few shades too light to be considered natural. A few curls of short red hair were visible, and the eyes, though focused on the sidewalk, were brown and guarded.

His eyes flickered up, just briefly, to meet with Brett’s.

The frown that pulled the stranger’s face down gave him away.

Brett stared, blinking rapidly. Jamie continued to scowl at him, looking impatient, probably waiting for an apology that Brett knew he was never going to give. If he remembered Brett at all he didn’t give any indications. Instead he just looked like he wanted to keep moving, like he was annoyed Brett had somehow managed to confirm his existence, that he didn’t want to be noticed at all. 

“What?” he snapped, and his voice, though unhappy, sounded more tired than angry.

Brett opened his mouth and promptly closed it.

Jamie stared at him, and something about the way his mouth had twisted into the slightest smirk made him look so vividly like Brock that it was almost jarring. His eyes flickered over Brett’s face as his expression softened slightly. “Head up, kid,” he muttered, his voice low. “Try not to hit strangers so hard. You’ve got one hell of a shoulder.”

Brett opened his mouth again. “Uh,” he said, rushing through his thoughts to find something to say that wasn’t _Holy shit you’re Brock’s older brother!_ “Hockey. I played. Defense, so. Checking.”

Jamie’s eyebrows had raised considerably as he listened to Brett’s rambling response. Every motion his face made did nothing to make him look less like Brock. “Not surprised. Cool. Try not to check anyone else into the sidewalk, okay?”

“Okay,” Brett mumbled. Jamie smiled at him, thin-lipped, and then turned, heading in the opposite direction towards the McGinns' house.

Brett watched him go, at a loss for everything.

+

_Bro where r u?_

_Fuking shit Brock this isn’t funny_

_I saw Jamie, r u fuking lying to me?_

_Brock, please. Where are you?_

+

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Adam asked one morning over breakfast. Brett attempted to glare at him over his own bowl, but he ended up grimacing once he saw the soggy cereal in his brother’s open mouth.

For the fact that he had never openly disclosed his sexuality to any members of his family, it was quite bold of Adam to assume what he was assuming. Brett both admired and hated him, even if his brother was correct about Brett’s preferred choice for a significant other.

“Adam!” Mrs. Pesce shrieked, smacking her younger son over the head with a dishtowel.

Brett glanced at his mother, offering her the smallest of smiles while Adam grumbled loudly. His mother looked at him for a moment before winking, rolling her eyes at her youngest son.

+

“Did you and McGinn get into a fight?” Brad said a few days later. This time their mother was out shopping and there wasn’t any gross food to make Brett’s stomach churn; instead they were in the den, playing FIFA.

“No.”

“So where the hell’s he been?”

Brett figured he should have come up with some sort of a default response as to where he should be saying Brock is or what he should be saying Brock’s up to, but he hadn’t given it as much thought as he should’ve. “Sick,” he offered instead, going with what Mrs. McGinn had told him at the door.

“Is he dying, cause it’s been like a month?”

Brett had known it had been a month. He hadn’t realized how long that had been until someone else had said it.

+

_Bro. It’s been like a month._

_I miss u._

_Can I say that?_

_Mean it._

+

“Someone’s here for you!” Adam yelled into the basement a few days after that.

Brett shot up in his seat, twisting wildly to look in the direction of the door. He could feel Brad’s eyes on him, searching.

There had been no responses to his texts. But someone had come to the door anyway.

Brett took a moment to compose himself before ascending slowly up the stairs. He tried to keep his heart from beating too quickly in his chest; Adam, although his brother, was also a little shit, and he knew that he would’ve yelled something about a “boyfriend” if it was Brock at the door.

There was the slightest chance Adam had transformed into a decent human for a few minutes, or at least that was a lie Brett was content on telling himself.

He froze at the top of the stairs.

Jamie peered at him from the doorway, Adam nowhere in sight. “I was hoping you lived here,” he joked, attempting what Brett thought was supposed to be a smile. He looked significantly less unpleasant than the day Brett had almost shouldered him into the sidewalk, though he still had the hood of his sweatshirt covering his head. 

Brett stepped forward, slowly closing the basement door behind him. “You know who I am?”

“I do now.” Jamie held his hand up. A picture of Brock and Brett from their last high school hockey game, arms around each other and faces bright with big grins for having survived four years of hell, was clutched tightly between his fingers.

Brett hadn’t seen that picture in years. He didn’t even known Brock had a copy of it; Mrs. Pesce had been the one with the camera that afternoon.

“Pesce, right?” Jamie tried after a few moments of silence.

“Brett,” Brett responded, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from the image of Brock’s smiling face. “Pesce, yeah. That’s my last name.”

The McGinn smirk was once again creeping onto Jamie’s face. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Brett shrugged. “To the right people I do.” Jamie was not the right people. At least not yet. 

Jamie slipped the picture back into his pocket. “We need to talk. Or I need to talk to you. You just need to listen. Wanna go for a walk?”

Brett supposed it probably wasn’t the smartest idea to go for a walk with the mysterious older brother of his best friend, who was mentioned so infrequently that Brett wasn’t even sure he wasn’t excommunicated from the McGinn family or dead, but he was desperate enough for any mention of Brock’s whereabouts that he agreed without giving it much thought.

Besides, Jamie knew his name and where he lived. If he was dangerous Brett was pretty much screwed already.

+

They walked in silence for a few moments, following a trail that wound up towards the local park, when Jamie spoke again. “Brock probably hasn’t helped to make anything that’s going on any less confusing.”

Brett chuckled, somewhat shocked at how dark the noise sounded coming from him. “You could say that.” Thoughts of demons swirled into his mind. He wondered if Jamie knew that his youngest brother had associated him with demons.

“That’s half his fault, half mine. He tends to take simple things and twist them to make them more…”

“Interesting,” Brett supplied, because this was Brock they were talking about and Brock never seemed to be capable of just letting something exist normally.

He did not miss the smile that twisted up Jamie’s mouth. “That sounds about right.”

They stopped at the top of the hill, facing each other. In the gentle rays of the sun, Brett was finally able to get his first good view of Jamie. Despite still being self-shrouded in shadow, the resemblance to all the other McGinns’ was undeniable; Jamie had his mother’s face and the same dark eyes as Tye and Brock, coupled with both their facial expressions. His hair, more of a red-brown in the light, was a cross between Tye and Brock’s shades, curled just slightly in a way his brothers’ didn’t. He was pale, unnaturally so, but it looked less sickly on him when there was light on his face.

The dark shadows around his eyes were something Brett had missed the first time around. It almost looked like he was bruised, his skin there a deep purple like a bad injury, or what extreme sleep loss might look like. 

Brett tried not to stare, but he was looking at a McGinn, and that already meant that the task was near impossible.

Jamie was watching him quietly. “He didn’t ask me to find you. But when I saw your face all over his bedroom I knew I had to. Something’s…not right with Brock.”

Brett blinked. That was easily the understatement of the century, if not the next three hundred centuries. “So he is sick? Or something like it?”

“Or something like it,” Jamie supplied. “When he figured out what I was up to, he said I could tell you to stop by. I’m not happy with him, and I don’t think you know why. So he’ll tell you more about that. Just know that what Brock’s done, well, he’s more like me now than he was before.”

Brett was still blinking. “Is any of this supposed to make sense to me at all?”

Jamie laughed. “Soon, yes, if you go see my brother. He owes you a big explanation, about what he’s done, about me. Brock likes to exaggerate anything, except when he should. That doesn’t make it any easier on his friends, or us.”

“You know he basically implied you were dead.”

The look on Jamie’s face was wistful. “You know Brett, I might as well be.”

+

Brock was alive. He was on his couch, wrapped up in a bundle of blankets that were draped over his shoulders and his head, but he was alive. Brett fought against the urge to throw himself on him in a smothering hug and to punch him in the face, as Brock was smiling at him quite widely from where he was sitting.

He was as pale as Jamie, with the same deep purple bruises under his eyes.

“You here for the asshole?” Tye had said the moment he swung open the door and saw Brett on the other side of it, not even wasting time with a greeting.

Brett didn’t even bother to argue, settling simply with “I am” as a response.

Brock continued to smile widely at him, even as Brett stood in the middle of their den, unsure where to start. “You always look so cute when you’re lost,” he cooed, his shit-eating grin growing wider, “your eyes get all big and you can’t stop blinking.”

Brett blinked and then cursed himself silently. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I can try. Don’t think it’s gonna make much sense to you.”

“The older brother you never talk about showed up to my house, telling me I had to know what was going on. So. I’m here. What’s going on? Also, why the hell haven’t you responded to any of my texts?”

Brock’s grin seemed to grow even more brighter at the mention of the texts. “I knew that was probably gonna drive you crazy. But I can’t look at my phone for too long, it bothers my eyes.”

Brett took in the purple bruises again. “What’s happened to you?”

Brock eyed Brett carefully. “You won’t believe me, just like you didn’t believe in the demons, or what I was trying to say about Jamie.”

“The fucking demons again!” Brett exclaimed in what sounded more like a squawk of indignation than the anger he was trying to convey. “What is with you and these fucking demons?”

“Brock, stop being a douche and just tell Brett what’s up,” Tye called from somewhere inside. Brock shot a scowl off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Demons might not have been the right word for it,” Brock began slowly, carefully, but he was never either, “but I like to think of Logan as a demon, so. I usually just go with demons.”

“Logan?” Jamie hadn’t been lying; Brett was beyond confused. “Who the fuck is Logan?”

“Logan is Jamie’s…person.”

Brett could feel the onset of rapid blinking again. “Logan is Jamie’s person,” he repeated, apparently keeping up with the bird theme he had unintentionally started that afternoon.

“Right.” Brock grinned brightly at Brett. “I mean, he’s technically not a person anymore. He was a person, when they were in high school, but now he’s more of a…not-person.”

“A not-person.”

“Exactly.”

“So like…a demon?” Brett vaguely thought of sitting down, but he registered that the only place other than the floor was next to Brock and he was not going there, not right now.

“Yes. Like a demon. Or technically, probably more of a vampire. But demon’s more fun to say.”

“Um.” Brett allowed himself to settle slowly on the carpet. If he stood any longer, he would eventually fall over. “Vampires and demons, they aren’t, well they aren’t, well you know, they…”

“You’re doing it again, the blinking!” Brock gave Brett a huge smile. “I know none of this makes sense, and I don’t really know what to do about that. But it still looks cute on you.”

Brett opened his mouth right as a shadow filled the doorway. “Your flirting skills still suck,” Tye remarked.

Brock made a kicking motion in his brother’s direction while Brett continued to blink rapidly. That was – something, and it was something they would not be unpacking at this moment. Not when the key words of Brock’s horrifyingly bad attempts at explaining the situation were “vampire” and “demon” and “Logan”, whoever the hell that was supposed to be aside from Jamie’s “person”. 

A slight shade of pink flushed across Brock’s pale face. “Right, so anyway. Logan was Jamie’s best friend in high school. They were super close, like really close. And then one day Logan just stopped coming over, and Jamie started looking all weird, and then he left home. And we’ve only seen him a handful of times over the past few years, because he didn’t want us to know what’s going on. But we worked some stuff out, even though we don’t talk about him. It’s easier just to…not talk about Jamie.”

Jamie had honestly seemed like a perfectly pleasant person, and he had honestly made more sense in the brief time Brett had spent with him than Brock was currently making. “Jamie said you’re more like him now than you were before.” He met Brock’s gaze briefly before focusing on the deep purple beneath his eyes. “He said you’d done something…”

Brock’s smirk faltered briefly. “But he didn’t tell you what it was I did.”

“No. Just that…” Brett paused, thinking. “You said something about vampires.”

“Right.”

“And that you like to call Logan a demon, even if he’s more of a…”

Brock was staring at him earnestly. “You’re headed in the right direction, Brett. Keep going, and you’ll have this all figured out.”

Brett felt something in his stomach sink suddenly. “I know what you want me to say,” he breathed out slowly, afraid that if he talked too fast he might vomit all over Mrs. McGinn’s white rug, “but I don’t want to say it.”

The same wistful look that Jamie had worn was now on Brock’s face. “I’m not like, a full vampire, if that’s what you were gonna say. And neither is Jamie. But Logan…” He paused, reaching up to pull down the neck of his hoodie.

Brock’s throat was as purple as his eyes. Barely visible, but just dark enough for Brett to see, were two small identical marks over the artery on the right side of his neck.  
Brett couldn’t move. “Holy fucking shit,” he whispered, his brain short-circuiting. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Yeah, it’s not as cool as it looks,” Brock pulled his hoodie back up, settling into the couch. His face was somber in a way it never was. “So now I’m like Jamie. His neck looks a lot better than mine does, but he’s had years for his skin to get used to everything.”

“Why did you let him bite you?” Brett cried out in a voice much louder than he had been expecting to use. Brock looked startled; he could hear footsteps behind them.

“Are we good in here?” Tye asked. “You know Mom and Dad aren’t gonna be out all day.”

“Yeah I think he’s in shock,” Brock replied, leaning forward to peer at Brett. Brett vaguely registered he was shaking, but he couldn’t give a fuck. He had no idea what was going on anymore. “He doesn’t yell, ever.”

“Do you fucking blame him?” A hand clasped Brett on the back; he jerked from the surprise of the gesture, but suddenly found himself being braced by Tye. “There’s a lot more to explain to you than Brock has, but it’s okay. I know that makes no sense. But Brock’s gonna be fine.”

“He has holes…and the purple…”

“But no fangs!” Brock grinned brightly at Brett; his teeth looked normal, the only consolation so far that day.

“You’re not funny,” Brett moaned, burying his face in his hands.

“You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t, but Brock was not about to find that out. Brett felt Tye squeeze his shoulders for reassurance. “So if you’re not a…” the word would not come out, no matter how long he tried to say it because it was just that ridiculous, this whole thing was just that ridiculous, “…you’re not a…that thing…so like what…and why…you let him _bite you_!”

“To be fair, it wasn’t planned. Just happened to be in the wrong mood at the wrong time.”

“I wonder if that’s Jamie’s excuse,” Tye mused quietly into Brett’s ear. He couldn’t help but smile at that.

“It’s not.”

Brett lifted his head and looked over his shoulder just as Tye whipped around and Brock leaned so far forward he almost fell off the couch. Jamie stood in the open doorway, peering at his brothers with a sullen gaze. “I figured I might be needed,” he muttered when no one else ventured a greeting, “cause I can explain a lot of this, if Brock isn’t.”

“I’m doing just fine!” Brock cried out at the same time Tye stated, “He isn’t.”

Jamie’s gazed dropped down to Brett. “What do you think, kid?”

Brett stared at Jamie, unsure where to begin. He shook his head, leaning into the solid warmth of Tye’s body. It was the only solid and sure thing in the room. Tye was the only thing in the room that still made sense; he was as warm as any living person was.

“We’re not vampires,” Jamie said.

Brett nodded. “So what are you?”

Jamie glanced over at Brock. “I don’t know if there’s really a name for what we are. Logan calls me a “blood bag”, and I guess that makes sense.”

Brett allowed the words to sink slowly into his mind. He was beginning to make connections from the jumbled information he had been handed so far by the McGinn brothers. Logan was a friend of Jamie’s, and supposedly a vampire, although that was still ridiculous, and both Jamie and Brock had been bitten, both apparently by Logan, but for reasons Brett did not know. And if they were supposedly blood bags, as Jamie had described himself, that meant that Logan was…

“Holy fucking shit!” Brett started, pointing his finger at Jamie. “You’re sustaining him? And you!” He struggled for a moment to scoot around so he could point at Brock. Brock gazed at him, eyes wide with an expression Brett had never seen in them before. “Why did you do it, Brock?” he whispered softly. “You haven’t told me why.”

A pained expression came over Brock’s face. He looked away.

“You know, Logan has blue eyes,” Jamie mused from behind Brett, and Brett – was not unpacking that now, nor was he thinking about how he had blue eyes too.

Brock squeezed his eyes shut. “Jamie,” he groaned. “Please.” And Brett - Brett wasn’t unpacking that now either.

“You’re all dumb,” Tye grumbled. “Especially you, J. At least Brett’s pretty, Logan is ugly as fuck.”

Jamie frowned with annoyance. “I don’t think I asked for an analysis of my life choices, Tye, but I appreciate that.”

“Your life choices got you in one hell of a situation.”

“Yeah, one I’ve been doing just fine with, thanks.”

“You think you’re doing fine? Mom cried for years because you never visited, you skulk around town like a fucking freak, that leech is just sucking you dry, and you look like fucking shit every single time I see you! How the hell is that fine?”

Jamie’s face had darkened considerably. “One more fucking word from you Tye, and I’m gone. Brock doesn’t get help, and you deal with Brett’s broken heart.”

Brett’s mouth dropped open just as Brock barked out a laugh. “Last fucking time I ever tell any of you fuckers anything,” he wheezed, struggling to stand wrapped in his pile of blankets. “You two assholes shut up and be my older brothers, thanks. You can fight later.”

Brett glanced at Jamie and Tye. They were looking at each other, teeth gritted, but Brett knew Brock had gotten to them. “I’ll be outside,” Jamie grumbled, backing towards the doorway.

Tye let him go. “You good, Brett?”

Brett stood slowly, a shaking feeling settling into his knees. He could feel Brock’s eyes on him. There was a lot to unpack – everything that was going on with apparent vampirism, the fact that Brock’s brothers had both basically implied that _Brock might actually fucking like him_, and – Brett didn’t know what to think of anything.

His pounding heart was trying to suggest otherwise.

“I’m good,” he lied. Brett smiled at no one in particular and quickly bolted for the doorway, heading outside to wait with a sullen Jamie.

+

The four of them were trudging back to the direction of town near where the woods began. No one had spoken; Tye had grumbled about having to come along when he didn’t want to and been shoved out the front door by Brock. Both Brock and Jamie had their heads down and hoods pulled up. Brett didn’t know much about how being a vampire worked outside of what he had seen on TV and in the movies, but he wondered if the sunlight affected them at all when they were victims and not actually sucking blood themselves.

A brief flash of Brock, mouth open and teeth sharp, entered Brett’s mind. He tried to force the image away and not think of Brock caressing his throat with his lips and then biting down, and – Brett inhaled a sharp breath, glancing over his shoulder. Brock looked up at him from under his hood, smiling brightly.

Brett couldn’t keep thinking about this. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the cracks in the pavement beneath his feet.

Jamie stopped first.

There was a small shop on the corner, a little deli Brett had gotten food from a few times before. A second floor boasted at least two apartments, with a separate entrance and a few mailboxes located on the side to indicate that people lived there. 

Brett had never seen anyone coming and going from the apartments. He was beginning to understand why that might be.

“You three wait here,” Jamie said, before he crossed the street and entered the side door.

They watched him go. “Jamie lives here,” Brock said to Brett. “He had been hiding out here for years without us knowing. Mom freaked out constantly, thinking that he was gone gone, somewhere far, when he was just staying away but staying close.”

Brett looked at his best friend. “So your parents know? Or at least have an idea about something?” He had remembered the way Mrs. McGinn had been towards him when he tried to come and visit Brock a few weeks ago. There was no way she could look at either of her sons and not know that whatever was wrong with them wasn’t natural.

“They know that we’re both sick, but they don’t know about Logan.” Brock sighed quietly. “They actually think Logan’s dead, and that Jamie’s become a recluse because of that.”

Brett raised his eyebrows. “What do they think happened to him?”

“Car accident. Jamie was super devastated because he thought that was what happened for a long time too. Obviously it wasn’t.”

“Speaking of Jamie, him and Logan…”

“We don’t know for sure,” Brock said, looking away from Brett, “but me and Tye, we both think Jamie had a crush on Logan. We don’t know if they ever did anything, but Logan was always around for years, and he and Jamie would disappear for hours and no one could find them. And Jamie allowed himself to become a blood bag for Logan, so. That says a lot if you want it to.”

Brett blinked slowly. “This all sounds familiar.”

“Doesn’t it?” Tye remarked, smirking.

Brock flushed a deep shade of red, eyes still focused elsewhere and not on Brett. “Fuck you, Tye.”

“Oh shove it Brock, you love me.”

“Like I said, fuck you, Tye.”

“Do I get a say in any of this?” Brett cut in, frankly finding this constant sibling squabbling to be getting a bit annoying. “Because I can hear all of you and what you’re implying, and this involves me, and Brock…” he trailed off; Brock was finally looking at him again, his expression guarded. “If I’m reading this the right way, you owe me one hell of a fucking explanation.”

The smallest smirk turned up Brock’s lips. “I think I’m gonna owe you one hell of a fucking explanation.”

There was nothing even remotely funny about the situation they were apparently in; still, Brett could not help but smile back. “I hate you.”

Brock’s smirk widened into a grin. “Sure you do.”

+

They were alone.

Jamie had stuck his head out of one of the windows of the apartment, calling for Tye. Tye had gone grumbling, muttering something about how Logan better not attempt to pull anything while he was up there. Brock had settled on a bench, humming softly to himself with his head low, like he wasn’t concerned about his fate or what might be going on with his brothers and his maker. Brett had stood awkwardly, eying Brock, looking back across the street for any signs they would be needed. When it became apparent they weren’t moving too quickly, Brett decided to do one of the hardest things he could in that very moment.

He lowered himself slowly into the empty place next to Brock.

His best friend stopped humming.

The two sat quietly next to each other in silence. Brett had his hands clasped tightly. He counted down in his head; the sitting down hadn’t been the hardest thing he was going to do.

What he knew he had to do next was.

“So.”

Brock had barely moved since Brett had sat down. The lack of fidgeting was very odd for him. “So.”

Brett looked over at Brock. Brock’s face was still hidden from him by his hood. He couldn’t help but smile; Brock, always so loud and self-assured and grinning in the face of anything awkward and embarrassing, seemed to be acting more like Brett than Brett was. His confidence was all but gone.

“Logan has blue eyes, huh?”

Brock lifted his head, glaring at Brett. He didn’t miss that there was a small smile on Brock’s face. “He might.”

“Want to tell me why that’s so relevant?”

Brock’s glare sharpened. “Don’t try to fuck with me. You know why.”

Brett did. A warm feeling blossomed in his chest. “Just like mine?”

“Yours are nicer.”

The feeling began to spread out towards other parts of his body. “So why’d you let him bite you?”

“I didn’t let him bite me. I…asked him. To do it.”

Brett raised his eyebrows. He fought to remain calm and not squawk embarrassingly again. “Why?”

Brock met his gaze. “Because. I was upset. You…I had gotten really weird with you that night, you know? My birthday, with the T.V. show about demons. And I guess I thought I had fucked up, because you left when I told you to, and it was fucking _sleeting_, Brett, you walked home in the fucking rain! And Logan was skulking around looking for Jamie, and I…” He inhaled, looking away. “I didn’t think about it as much as I should’ve.”

“That’s for fucking sure.”

“But I’ll be okay!” He was meeting Brett’s gaze again with a fire that finally was Brock being himself. “Jamie said there’s a loophole, since Logan didn’t take enough blood to turn me. He just wasn’t sure what it was, since he’s been giving blood for years and has never asked to be cured.”

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Brett shifted his hand towards Brock’s; he hadn’t noticed Brock’s hand in the space between them earlier, but it was there now. 

Brock held his gaze. “Yes. I will be.”

Their hands touched. 

“Good.” Brett shifted just a bit further, until his hand was covering Brock’s. He rubbed the skin gently with his thumb and then squeezed it reassuringly. “Because you still owe me that explanation.”

Brock beamed at him. “I don’t think it’s the explanation I owe you anymore.”

“No.”

Brett always had trouble tearing his gaze away from Brock’s face; now, with his best friend beaming at him so brightly, their hands _touching_, he found he was having the most difficulty he had ever had in their entire ten years of friendship. Brett squeezed the back of Brock’s hand again before slowly raising his hand up to Brock’s neck. It was exposed, just a little, but he could see the beginning of the purple bruise. 

Brett rested his hand against Brock’s neck. Brock’s smile had faded a bit; he was still looking at Brett, but his eyes were wide with wonder. 

“I hate this,” Brett muttered softly, caressing what skin he could feel of Brock’s neck. “I really fucking hate this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Brett said, only half lying, because it would be completely okay if Brock was going to be okay.

He leaned in and kissed him.

He could feel Brock’s smile against his lips.

When he pulled back, a pink flush had settled onto Brock’s cheeks. “I look forward to doing that again when you’re warm,” Brett said, grinning.

Brock’s smile widened. “Me too.”

+

Jamie’s apartment was small yet lived-in. Brett was a bit surprised to see so much stuff lying around, but he figured that if Jamie was acting like a recluse, he might as well have some things hanging around to entertain himself when he wasn’t doing whatever it was that he usually did.

They had been called up by Tye, who had rushed past them on the stairs out. He had glanced down and caught Brett holding Brock’s hand, letting out a bunch of whoops and punching Brock in the shoulder, who yelped and threatened to have Logan bite his other brother.

Jamie had been standing at the top of the stairs looking vaguely bemused. “That’s cute, but try not to cause so much noise. The deli owner’s wife already gets freaked out any time she sees me or Logan out at night.”

“He lives here?” Brett asked, still holding Brock’s hand tightly as he guided him up the stairs.

He couldn’t tell for sure in the darkness, but Jamie looked like he was blushing. “He’s, uh, around sometimes, yeah.”

Brock rolled his eyes, suppressing a grin.

Despite being home to an apparent vampire and his “blood bag”, the windows were not covered with drapes. Light shone brightly through the windowpanes, casting a cozy glow in what Brett had been expecting to be a gloomy situation. There was a door shut just past the kitchen; Brett assumed that was the bedroom, and he was guessing that the windows were covered in there for probably one very obvious reason.

“Do you have a coffin in there?” he asked Jamie.

Jamie looked at him, frowning. “You can’t just believe everything you see in movies, Brett.”

“Apparently you can’t believe everything that’s logical either.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, looking very much like Brock. “Fair enough. You.” He was directing his attention at his younger brother. “Get in there. He’s waiting.”

Brock and Brett looked at each other. “See ya shortly shorty.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “You suck. Go get cured.”

Brock grinned, sticking his tongue out, and then he did a bizarre dance across the floor until he reached the bedroom, disappearing behind the unlocked door.

Jamie eyed Brett. “You sure you want to deal with that on a romantic level?”

Brett stared at the closed door, his heart swelling with fondness. “You should’ve warned me off ten years ago. It’s too late now.”

Jamie fought back a smile. He shook his head as he gestured towards the couch. “Might as well get comfy. Could be a while.”

Brett sat, Jamie sat next to him, and they began waiting.

+

“Do you know what happens?”

“No.”

“How do you not know? Aren’t you and Brock the same…whatever you are?”

“Technically we are. But Logan bit me over 10 years ago. I don’t even know if anything could be done for me.”

“How are you not dead? Sorry, was that rude? I just don’t get it.”

“I don’t know. And no, it isn’t rude, I just…don’t know.”

“Haven’t you ever asked him about it?”

“Nah, not really. It just happened and I kinda accepted it.”

“Is it true, well Brock and Tye said, were you two, like…”

“Uh…well…they shouldn’t be talking about it with people who don’t know me. No offense.”

“Okay but like…why else would you let him drink your blood for so long, if you weren’t….and he hasn’t killed you, or transformed you…”

“I’m not interested in being transformed. He did ask about that.”

“How come?”

“Nothing about immortality interests me. Logan doesn’t like that, of course. But he’ll never force me to do anything I don’t want. I offered myself to him, all those years ago. And that’s just how it’s been since.”

“Shit.”

“He was my best friend, and I…well, I think you get it.”

Brett did get it. His heart still felt swollen with pain for Jamie anyway.

+

There was little fanfare when Brock threw open the bedroom door, head unobscured by a hoodie, face triumphant. “And here I am,” he cooed, grinning brightly at Brett, “all very much alive and less purple!”

Brett jumped up, resisting the urge to run across the room to grab Brock. “You look as obnoxious as you always do.”

Brock laughed. “Well you know, it is me.”

A figure moved in the darkness behind Brock. “You’re welcome,” a deep voice said, sounding vaguely annoyed.

“Thank you, Logan,” Brett said to the dark figure.

A pair of blue eyes flashed quickly in his direction. “You’re the guy he was whining over on his birthday?”

Brock uttered a loud cry of indignation while Brett laughed. “Yeah, I guess that was me. Sorry about that. Things were kinda weird between us. Not a lot of communication going on.”

“That sounds familiar,” Logan said, echoing thoughts from earlier. “I’ll try not to listen to him the next time he begs me to bite him, especially if it’s because he’s whining about you.”

Brock scowled. “You’re just as annoying as you’ve always been, Logan. Good to know you haven’t changed.” 

“And you McGinns are still as thickheaded as you’ve always been.” Logan’s blue eyes flashed over at Jamie, who was watching the exchange quietly. “Good to know you haven’t changed.”

Jamie flushed, reaching out to shove his brother. “C’mon, let’s get you home. Tye’s probably angry at all of us for this taking so long. He’s planning on seeing his girlfriend soon anyway.” He stopped, looking at Logan. “See you later?”

Brett couldn’t be sure, but Logan’s eyes almost looked as if they were smiling. “I’ll be waiting.”

+

Brock came over that evening, and the next morning, and stayed through the rest of the day and that night. He and Brett lounged in the Pesces’ basement playing video games, pressed together on the same sectional instead of sitting apart. There was a nervous energy about Brock, and every time Brett so much as shifted, Brock was suddenly pushed up into his space.

The two of them were having a hard time keeping their hands to themselves when they weren’t focused on the T.V., and the video games were being paused with a frequency they had never been before in the history of the Pesce family.

They fell asleep in the basement as well, Brett clutching Brock’s warm, living, very human body to him straight through the night.

A loud banging would wake them in the morning.

“Get the fuck up boyfriends!” Adam screeched with all the pleasantness of a lawn mower at 7 a.m., “Mom’s making waffles!”

“Adam, language!” Mrs. Pesce screamed from the kitchen.

Brock groaned, burying his head in the crook of Brett’s neck. “Your brother’s an asshole.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” Brett kissed the top of Brock’s head. He had always known Brock had very soft hair, but there was so much to marvel at now that he could actually nuzzle into it. “At least yours are nice.”

“Eh, they’re okay. Sometimes they’re assholes too.” Brock chuckled, and the feeling of his body vibrating against his set a low flame in Brett’s stomach.

They looked at each other for a moment before kissing.

“This is fucking insane,” Brock muttered when Brett had finally pulled away. “I still can’t believe it.”

“I can’t believe anything that’s gone on,” Brett remarked. 

“Yeah it was an…odd month or so.”

“Can you do me a favor and never ever do that again? Please?”

Brock beamed at him, pressing a kiss against his neck. “I think I can do that much for you.”

Brett grinned, hugging his boyfriend tightly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
